


Small Things

by WrenBaker



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Cats, Fluff, M/M, Milk, Pointless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-25
Updated: 2012-10-25
Packaged: 2017-11-17 00:11:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrenBaker/pseuds/WrenBaker





	Small Things

All you can do is smile  
It can be the little things that drive a man insane, the small irritations of life that sometimes makes a grown man want to weep in frustration and take his anger out on inanimate objects. Like a chip and pin machine.  
On example of a "little thing" that was currently annoying John Watson was one of the more eccentric examples of Sherlock Holmes's genius. After a while John had become accustomed to the various random human and animal body parts that were strewn about the apartment. Apparently as experiments. The truth of which John suspected was more to do with Sherlock purposefully annoying him for fun.  
He had also become used to Sherlock almost never buying any food or essentials for the flat, and his inability to clean up after himself. Although despite the opinion of others, John suspected that that inability was not because of willful laziness, but rather a special sort of forgetfulness.  
No, the one thing that John found very annoying is that Sherlock had a habit of stealing all of their milk and refusing to tell him what he had done with it. This was odd. Considering that usually Sherlock loved telling John what he was doing in each of his experiments, although he pretended that he didn't.  
All the other habits that Sherlock had, John had grown to love as they were a part of the man that he loved very much. But this most recent habit was frankly too annoying and confusing to ignore and he decided that hell or high water he would find out what Sherlock was doing with the milk.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------  
A week and a half later:  
John was slumped on the couch, bemoaning the fact that it was very, very hard to follow and watch the world's only consulting detective. Especially since he knew that John was going to follow him before John had known he was going to. Half the time John swore that the man was guessing, just to keep him guessing.  
Even on a case Sherlock never let his guard down, and John was no closer to finding out what Sherlock was doing with the milk then he was a week ago. It was maddening, and it wasn't as if John could ask him, no he had to figure it out himself. Because he was so goddamn stubborn!  
He sighed and forced himself to get up and go to the kitchen, maybe a cup of tea would help him think. However when he opened the fridge the milk was gone again! Groaning with frustration he slammed the fridge door shut rather harder than he had intended. Dislodging a container of margarine in the process, he picked the container up and put it back into the fridge.  
All the while lamenting the fact that they had no actual food in the house, they had only condiments and accompaniments to food. It was a miracle that Sherlock was alive at all, all things considered.  
John shrugged on his coat as he left the apartment, only just missing the sight of a small tabby kitten that was lingering near the doorway.  
\---------------------------------------------------------  
One week later:  
John wasn't the sort of man who gave up easily, his military record spoke for itself in that regard. But he was seriously considering hanging up the white flag in this matter.  
He had done everything that he could think of to find out where the milk was going; he wasn't sure why he cared so much. It's hardly as if it was massively important, but he was also a very obstinate man. He was sure that it would be the source of his downfall.  
A few days ago he had even tried asking the man, but Sherlock just feigned ignorance and waved the issue away. Like so much flayed flesh, it spoke volumes about how much time John spent with Sherlock that that was the analogy that he chose to use.  
Eventually his scheming became more and more elaborate, to the point where for a period of three hours John was perched outside of their apartment block. Dressed as a small shrubbery, an attempt that he had to give up when a nearby neighbour called the cops about a "suspicious looking man".  
At last he was slumped on the couch in their living room. Deciding that enough was enough. He no longer cared what Sherlock was doing with the milk. He could be making a nuclear reactor, or using it to douse extremely small forest fires. It didn't matter.  
As John was lying back and thinking of non-milk related things. He had the sensation of a warm, small body on his face. He opened his eyes in alarm and saw only mottled orange fur. John grasped the creature which he could now see was a tabby kitten.  
Sherlock was standing a little way off, looking exceeding and disproportionately smug. Thus the penny dropped.  
"Aah" John said with relisation. "I have to say this I didn't expect" he admitted.  
Sherlock sat next to him on the couch and moved to pet the kitten. All John could do was smile.  
Ha ha ha ha ha. So many drabbles, it's as if I've become allergic to a continuous plot-line.


End file.
